


The Last and Final Will and Testament of Dean H. Winchester

by InvisibleArmour



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvisibleArmour/pseuds/InvisibleArmour





	The Last and Final Will and Testament of Dean H. Winchester

I'm not gonna go all legal on this - God knows we don't even own the clothes on our backs, not really. But I know I'm gonna die soon, there’s no doubt about that, and when I'm gone there's going to be a certain way I want things done.

Sam, of course, you'll get the impala. And you can put whatever freaky iPod docks or salad dispensers or whatever the hell else you want in it; if you're reading this, I'm dead – for good this time - and it's all yours. But I have a few requests.

When you repair it, because I know you'll have to at some point, keep all the bruises. I don't care if you have to hammer them in again yourself with a q-tip - if we've done nothing else in our crappy lives, we have beaten that friggin’ car to the ground, and it should stay that way. Dad raised you, hell, I raised you in that dirty Chevrolet, and every imperfection is a frigging memory; the scratched bumper, the blood stained leather, and those fucking legos in the radiator; and they're going to stay there whether you like it or not.

My guns, of course, all go to you, unless Cas wants some, if he's still around. I know we don't do much hunting anymore, but I don’t know what’ll happen when I’m gone. But you have to promise me you'll lock them away. If you go off to live your apple pie life with your dog and wife and a family - don't let your kid hold that weapon, man. Whatever you do, don't get anyone else into this world. This isn't a life anyone should have, and I think you know that best of all. I used to think we had been born to do this; that this was our only future. But fuck it, man, we're more than plastic army men, and you better go live a real life. We've been cleaning up everyone's messes for far too long.

And I want to give you my apologies. I'm not gonna go all sappy on you, this isn’t a fairy tale or some crappy Spanish soap opera. But I've been hard on you, I've hated you at points, I've left you on your own and given you more scars than I can count. You've done some dumb shit too, and damn, I'm never going to understand why you did some of it, but I forgive you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for doubting you and hurting you and for showing up at Stanford in the first place. I'm sorry you died and I sold my soul and we started the apocalypse. I'm sorry you saved the world and went insane and still lived to see the light, which, if it’s there at all, is at the end of a pretty damn long tunnel. You could have avoided all this if it weren't for me, you could have forgotten everything and had a real life, like you almost did. And I almost did too, once.

And I don't have much else to give you. I don't even know if you'll see this fucking note. Maybe it was lost somewhere at some grungy motel in Alabama or Tennessee, or maybe it's too drenched in blood to be discernible. Maybe you're not even hunting with me anymore, I don't know. Maybe we've both moved on. But every day I slip it into my pocket, just in case.

So that brings me to Cas, I guess. Cas, man, I don't know what's going on with you right now. I don't know if you're insane, or good, or dead, or even real, to be honest. But there's some shit you've got to know.

First of all, take my Dad's journal. Sam doesn't need it, we've dealt with more shit than that book could ever tell us, and it's the only thing I have for you to remember me by. I'm not that much of a person - I'm a shadow of a life, the remnants of some old archangel’s vessel, and technically I died in explosion in some old town in Colorado. But don't you think for one second that I'm forgettable, because you know that I am one of a fricking kind.

We've been through a lot, you and me, and it's been a pretty bumpy roller coaster, I'll admit. I thought I'd lost you a thousand times, but you've always come back, with your dirty fricking trenchcoat and that stupid backwards tie. Now I'm gone, you're going to have to learn to knot that thing yourself.

I wish I could erase myself, that you could still be whole and clean and kicking back in heaven singing hymns and raising bees or whatever the fuck angels are supposed to do. But I'm also glad to have fucked you up, because you're so much more than all that now. You're Team Free Will, Mr. Comatose, and you've saved the world more times than you seem to realize. And man, I have to tell you, I've always had to tell you -

 

Well, I'm pretty sure you know. I think you've always known, longer than I have, longer than Sam has, maybe since day one. I only wish that I had understood.

Sam, if you're reading this part, I will kick your ass so fucking hard-

So that's it, I guess. A beat-up car, a pile of guns, and tattered leather journal. My legacy. And you know, I don't think that's all that bad. The world doesn't need to know what I've done or who I am. Because you two know, and you'll remember me, I hope. And I'm pretty sure that's all that matters, in the end.

 

[Signed  
Dean H. Winchester  
High-School Dropout, Demon-Killer Extraordinaire.]


End file.
